In the Mind's Eye
by Fellowshipper
Summary: Another GenX story. Chamber's been acting rather strangely lately, and it's up to the rest of Generation X to figure out what's going on.
1. Default Chapter

**Title:** In the Mind's Eye

**Rating:** PG for...stuff, I guess. 

**Notes:** Okay, first things first. Yes, I'm aware that the title is horrible, any which way you look at it, and I apologize for not being able to come up with anything better. Also, I'm not entirely happy with the way it ended, but oh well. Stuff happens, right? Right. This was also started in a futile attempt to write Jono into a story that wasn't angst. It didn't work. I shall try again sometime, but this is what came out of it all. 

**Continuance Note:** Not really sure where this one falls. Ev's still around, and I'm gleefully ignoring the whole Monet/Penance ordeal. 

**Disclaimer:** Even though I'm a student who could desperately use the money, I'm not making anything off this. I'm doing it solely from the goodness of my own heart. This is free exposure, Marvel! Thank me! ME! Er...On with the story. 

******

"He's been like this for days, Ms. Frost." 

Emma sighed quietly, standing at the top of the stairs with Angelo, looking into Jono's immaculately kept room. She wasn't even sure that he was aware of their presence; being a telepath, one would be inclined to believe he could sense them behind him, but with the bizarre telepathic waves he had been sending out recently, Emma wasn't sure of anything the boy thought. 

"It's drivin' me nuts." Angelo ran a finger along the banister, holding it up for emphases. "No dust. No dirt. Nothin'. This is Jono, for cryin' out loud! Mister 'I'm-too-wrapped-up-in-my-own-pity-to-worry-about-anything himself!" The confused and more than irritated Latino pointed down the stairs to where Jono busied himself in the basement-turned-bedroom, tidying up what had already been cleaned days earlier. "Jono's not supposed to clean anything. It doesn't suit him." 

"I know." 

Angelo, however, ignored her comment. He needed to vent to someone, and so far his teacher was the only one who seemed interested in hearing him, since he was simply repeating the same thing his fellow students already felt. "This is his room. I've never seen it clean. It's always had clothes and video games and magazines and CDs and...and who knows what else everywhere. I didn't even know the floor was concrete. I always assumed he'd had some kind of carpet put in," Angelo continued, referring to the freshly revealed floor of the room. 

Emma nodded, wishing for all the world that her oldest student would stop doing everything he could to keep from talking about whatever it was that was bothering him. There was always the temptation to pry into his mind and steal the information directly, but part of being Generation X's guardian was a solemn promise to respect their privacy. 

They had always thought the brooding, somber Jono was bad. That attitude had nothing on this new hyper one that strained to be friendly.

Jono turned abruptly to throw another batch of clothes into a basket to take upstairs and wash, appearing not at all surprised to find he was being watched. *'lo,* he greeted casually, flicking his hand in a slight wave. Angelo raised his eyebrows.

"See? It's not him. The Jono I know would've probably blasted us through a wall or something for coming in here without knocking." 

Jono, on the other hand, seemed completely and happily oblivious to the conversation taking place before him. He tossed the clothes in the basket and walked back to the bed, stretching out on the floor beside it and pulling anything and everything out from underneath it. 

"I know, Angelo, but there is little I can do for him other than stay out of it all. If something's bothering him too badly, he will come to us and talk about it. Until then, all we can do is put up with...this." She paused, forehead creasing. "And hide the dishwashing liquid. He's going to wear the designs off the china if he deep cleans the dishes one more time." 

Angelo would have laughed any other time if his teacher hadn't been trying to make a joke about his best friend, one who was currently driving the entire student body insane by doing a complete one-eighty from his usual self-involved, bitter self. He hadn't stopped being social for the past five days. When he wasn't cleaning, or outside doing work around the building, or in the Biosphere training with the mind of a madman, he was wandering the halls in search of anyone to pal around with. 

Angelo had always assumed that it would be a glorious day when Jonothon Starsmore saw past his own problems and decided to actually make an honest attempt at being sociable. This wasn't how he had always pictured it. It was awkward and unnatural, as if the Brit was looking more for someone to cling to rather than just another ear to unload his troubles upon. 

"Do you think it'd be wrong of me to guide him to my room and have him clean that, too?"

Emma turned cold eyes upon her student. "It could be considered unethical by some, yes." She let her gaze fall to Jono, who had by then made his way to the closet and was digging out the shoe boxes full of personal belongings that Emma could only wonder at. "But if it keeps him quiet and away from the kitchen...Just don't let Sean find out." 

Angelo grinned impishly. "Gracias." 

Emma shrugged and walked back up the stairs, praying to anyone that was listening that Angelo would manage to occupy his friend long enough to have dinner made by someone who had a clue as to what they were doing. She was still reeling over Jono's well meaning but completely miserable attempt to be helpful the previous night when he tried to make dinner. There may have been a time when he could cook, but being that once one overlooked the gaping hole in his body he was still just an average teenage boy, his only prior cooking skills included the use of a microwave and perhaps a toaster oven. Suffice it to say that his dinner had been widely neglected by most of the students, even Sean and Everett who made a wholehearted effort to appreciate Jono's thoughtfulness. Emma had carefully restrained a grin at hearing Jubilee's remark after dinner that just because Jono hadn't eaten in well over a year didn't mean he had to turn everyone else against food. 

"So," Angelo started, causing Jono to jump. "The room, uh...it looks nice." 

Jono relaxed and went back to the closet. *Thanks.* 

Angelo cleared his throat, shuffling his feet anxiously. What was he supposed to say to someone who didn't even remotely resemble his best friend and partner in crime? The same thing as always; he figured the only way to get to the root of the problem was to directly address it, not daintily sidestep it as everyone else had been doing lately. "What's wrong with you?" 

Jono stiffened suddenly, back still turned to Angelo. *Wot? Nothin's wrong with me, Ange. I'm fine.* 

"Yeah right. Something's up and you won't talk about it." Angelo seated himself uninvited on the older teen's bed, one that went mostly unused but had nevertheless been cleaned anyway. It was also surprisingly comfortable. "So are you gonna tell me or do I have to sit here all day and pull the info out?" 

Jono took one look at his friend, grabbed the basket of laundry, and began to ascend the stairs. 

"Hey! C'mon, Jono, I'm worried about you, amigo. We all are." Well, his little inspirational "please speak so I don't have to kill you for cleaning the school" talk wasn't going as well as he had planned. Jono turned abruptly, the glazed, hollow look that occupied his eyes recently giving way to the haunted expression Angelo had grown accustomed to. 

*I don't have nothin' t'talk about, Angelo.* 

"Liar." 

*Nothin' I wanna talk about,* Jono corrected himself, taking a sudden intense interest in the basket of laundry he held. *Clothes are dirty. Just wanted t'go wash 'em, that's all.* 

"You don't own that many clothes, hombre. You've already done laundry three times in as many days. What's going on?" 

Angelo groaned as he almost watched as the empty look come back on Jono's face. The Brit gripped the bright red basket tighter and began walking up the stairs again. *Just doin' laundry. If you wanna talk, then come upstairs. I can't stand stayin' down 'ere.* 

Sometimes, Angelo realized, it just didn't pay to get out of bed and face the day. 


	2. Chapter Two

Kick. Punch. Blast. Punch. Blast. Run. 

The method of fighting was repeated ad nauseam by Jono, involved in a tough battle with a holographic projection of a mutant he had never seen. Supposedly it was to test the team's reaction to dealing with new threats and with absolute zero knowledge on who it was they were battling. 

His hit-and-run mentality was working wonders for him. Unfortunately, it was leaving his partner completely vulnerable to attacks he should have spotted. 

The team had been sectioned off into pairs, expected to protect not only themselves but their partners as well. Everett and Paige functioned well as a team. Monet and Angelo struggled to keep from letting the other get blown to pieces just out of spite. Jono and Jubilee would have made a decent pairing, had it not been for Jubilee's having to overwork herself by protecting Chamber and herself. 

"That's good," Banshee encouraged the team when the last of the holographic images fell due to a well-placed punch from Monet. He was thankful that he and Emma had borrowed some of the Shi'ar technology and installed it in the Biosphere. It provided a level of intensity and realism that could never have been achieved otherwise. Of course, it also pointed out the team's weaknesses in more vivid detail. "Ye can leave now." He paused as the students left the training ground, weary and yet still somehow energetic. "Jono, lad, can ye stay for a minute, please?" 

"See, Sparky? If ya wouldn't have been tryin' t'get me killed an' all, you could be outta here with the rest of us!" Jubilee pointed out with a confirming nod of her head. After a brief but admonishing look from Emma, however, she turned and walked out with the rest of her classmates. 

Jono stood by the door, kicking his foot restlessly back and forth. Emma stood before him, the same disappointed look on her face he was accustomed to seeing, and Banshee had his arms folded across his chest and a worried look. This was what all of the students of Generation X feared, a lecture on their abilities and shortcomings. Everyone received it at least once a week. Jono guessed it was merely his time to get one. 

"Ye did a good job of stayin' alive," Sean started, frowning as the words sounded strange to even him. "But if this had been real, Jubilee might not've made it through." 

Jono looked to the floor, perhaps to find the answer written in the ground. *Sorry.* 

"No, sorry is not going to correct everything." Emma was tired of not being allowed to bring up Jono's problems. Sean, on the other hand, wanted to take the kinder, more fatherly approach to everything. 

"Jono, ye seem...distracted. I know ye don't like talkin' about yuir problems an' all, an' I can respect that, but ye know ye can talk to us, right?" 

Jono nodded mutely, wondering when this talk was going to end. 

"Is there anything ye'd like to tell us?" 

Jono shook his head, brown hair falling into his face. He made no effort to brush it away. 

"Yuir privacy is one thing, lad, but when it starts resultin' in carelessness in battle, it becomes our business." Jono would have drawn in a deep breath if he could; the previous statements had simply been leading up to the real lecture, apparently. "We've noticed ye've seemed very off-kilter lately, an' we ignored it, just thinkin' ye'd work it out yuirself. But ye 'aven't, Jono, an' aside from bein' worried about ye, we're also worried that it's going to end up getting others hurt as well." 

*It...won't 'appen again,* Jono assured an empty promise, shoving his hands a bit deeper into the pockets of his jacket. It seemed at times that maybe the gods of fate had nothing better to do than to conspire against him and make his life miserable. That included endless lectures from teachers. 

"Yes, it will, until you deal with whatever it is that's troubling you." Emma ignored the look Sean shot her at her less than encouraging words. "You know that any of us will help if you only ask for it, Jonothon. So why don't you?" 

Jono looked up, defiance and something his teachers couldn't quite place mingling in his eyes. *'Cause nothin's wrong. An' even it there was, I'd deal with it myself. I don't need yer help or anyone else's. Never 'ave. Why start now?* He felt the familiar tingle at the back of his mind start to fade as Emma withdrew the telepathic feelers she had begun to use to try to track down the source of the trouble, and then he turned and stalked angrily from the Biosphere. 

Sean gave a quiet, defeated sigh. "So. That went well." 

******

"He's been possessed by a space alien." 

"Nah. I think it's the Phoenix." 

"What?" 

Everett shrugged at his suggestion. "It's better than Jubilee's explanation." 

"How? The Phoenix is female, anyway. And isn't it still in Jean?" Paige was infinitely confused by then. How on Earth their topic of conversation had gone from a homework assignment to trading thoughts on what was bothering Chamber was beyond her. 

"I don't know." Ev took a sip from the can of Mountain Dew in his hand, contemplating it with a thoughtful expression. "But that would explain the cleaning fits he keeps taking." 

Paige and Jubilee both were silenced; their teammate brought up a good point. Angelo, sitting across from them in an overstuffed lounge chair, forced a weak smile. 

"Guys, c'mon. Don't make jokes. I mean, I'm just as sick of this new personality as the rest of you, but something's wrong and he's not talkin'. I don't feel right makin' fun of him for it." 

While her two cohorts seemed a bit abashed at the gentle reprimand, Jubilee was nowhere near finished. "The guy could've gotten me killed! I mean, I know he's like, Chamber the Angsty-Ghost, but still!" 

"Look, Lee. You're still alive, right? Why complain?" 

"Because as loathe as I am to admit it, Jubilee has a point." For the first time since entering the rec room, Monet chose to speak. She pointedly ignored the surprise that registered on the faces of her teammates. "Had that been a real battle rather than a training session, Jubilee could have been injured because of Jonothon's negligence. And even aside from that, his mental state has always been precarious, at best. I am not altogether comfortable knowing that there is a possibility he is even more unstable than usual." 

Angelo rolled his eyes. "Well, I've tried everything I know to get 'im to talk, and nothin' works. If you got a better idea, Monet, then feel free to try it." 

Monet stood, her long black hair falling gracefully around her and subsequently causing Jubilee to snort in disgust. "Very well." 

As she left, Paige looked curiously at her friend. "Um...Ange, are ya sure that was the best way to help?" 

Angelo could only offer a deep, somewhat apologetic sigh. "I didn't think she would take me up on it." 


	3. Chapter Three

Monet had always had her theories as to what Chamber's room actually looked like, and she had heard stories from some of her teammates about the things that lurked there. She shuddered to think of the perpetual chaotic mess that was sure to be there. Needless to say, she was surprised to find that when she entered the room, she was greeted with the sight of a room that was meticulously kept and organized. She could only assume it had something to do with Jono's recent reincarnation of himself. 

"Jonothon?" She called before even bothering to walk down the stairs. Though clean it might be, she had no idea what shape the stairs were in. 

Jono looked up from where he sat on the floor, flipping casually through an old issue of Metal Maniacs. *Yeah?* He noticed with some amusement that the younger girl was standing at the top of the stairs and looking down in something that showed her unease at the obstacle presented. *They're not gonna fall.* 

"Yes, I know that," Monet snapped irritably, choosing to simply float inches above them rather than walk on them. She didn't care what Jono said, those stairs looked ready to collapse at any moment. She placed her feet back on the ground when she was able to stand in front of him, hands on her hips in her customary superior stance. "I will not be forced to remain quiet when something is so obviously troubling you." 

Jono wished he could sigh. Lectures with Monet were always quick and to the point, and he was thankful for small miracles. *Why's everyone so convinced that somethin's wrong with me? I'm fine, really.* 

"If you will not tell me what is wrong, then I will find out for myself." 

Jono immediately lost his mirthful approach to the situation. The magazine was placed on the couch behind him as he stood, his height giving him a few inches' advantage over Monet. He looked down at her, eyes narrowed to dangerously angry slits. *That a threat, M?* 

Monet, though she was slightly intimidated by the faulty stairs, was not at all afraid of her teammate. Or at least not visibly, at any rate. She met his gaze levelly, never backing down to his scrutinizing eyes. "Consider it a warning. Either you tell me what is wrong, or I'll find out for myself." 

If she didn't know better, Monet could have sworn she saw a glimmer of excitement in the Brit's eyes. It vanished just as quickly as it appeared, however, and he leaned down a bit to be eye to eye with her. *No, I think that sounds more like a threat, that. I don't take kindly t'bein' threatened.* 

"Let me in, Chamber. I'm only trying to help." 

*Go to Hell.* If it was possible for someone to create a mental snarl, Jono perfected it in that instant. The sheer venom he was able to somehow convey through a psionic link was enough to stop Monet in her quest to get his mind to open to hers and rethink her course of action. But then again, she was Monet St. Croix, and Monet St. Croix feared little. Jonothon Starsmore was not on her list of those she feared. 

"If you wish, but only after I have seen what it is that is doing this to you." 

Jono didn't have time to react before Monet telepathically plunged into his head, making him stagger backwards in surprise. Eyes wide, he stumbled against the wall and stared at his teammate, who was quickly becoming dazed. *Get. Out.* 

Monet wasn't reacting to him in the least, and Jono realized, too late, that he should have paid more attention when Emma had tried to teach him the ins and outs of his telepathic abilities. Maybe then he could be strong enough to physically remove Monet from his mind before she even received a glimpse of his inner self. 

As the world dimmed around him and his body began to shut down to compensate for his attention being focused on his mind, Jono felt a smile he couldn't manage creep over him. Monet had finally, after all this time on the team, gotten herself into more than she could handle. Despite not having paid much attention to Emma's lessons in telepathy, he had always been experimenting with his abilities and working the details out in private. Monet, being as arrogant as she was, probably had little to no concept of how powerful her teammate had managed to make himself if not in the physical world, but in his mind. The Astral Plane was where he gained his true strength, and that was his realm that no one dare invade without consequences. 

The world finally blackened around him, and he fell unconscious to the floor beside Monet. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Note:** Sorry about this one being so long, but I tried and tried to break it up into two separate chapters without destroying the flow of it, and I couldn't. 

******

Monet carefully inspected the thick metallic blue wall that was in place around every trained telepath's mind. As long hours of practice with the White Queen taught her, only a psi of unimaginable talent would be able to completely seal off their minds from those who wished to pry into them. That meant there had to be at least one crack in Jono's defenses. She just needed to find it. 

Walking slowly and trailing her hand along the wall that seemed more like it was surrounding the borders of ancient Rome than a teenage boy's thoughts, Monet allowed herself a moment to wonder what she had gotten herself into. She wasn't afraid, per se. Not yet, anyway. If Emma found out, as she undoubtedly would, that her two telepathic students were currently engaged in a game of cat and mouse, she would have both of their heads hanging on the wall of her office. 

Monet cringed at the image just as she came across a small but workable crack in the wall she was beginning to think was impenetrable after all. A few well placed blows to it and the crack widened enough for her to slip through. She immediately wished she hadn't. 

The blunt end of a psychic blade came down hard on her back. She cried out and fell forward onto the floor that wasn't a floor, face down and mind racing frantically. She had never before been engaged in battle on the Astral Plane, as she had always relied on her strength and infinite intelligence to keep things from ever getting that far. 

She rolled onto her back to see an unnatural light providing the only illumination in the almost blinding darkness. It shined on a tall, thin figure in silver and black psionic armor that glinted brightly in the light. A pointed helmet shielded her attacker's head and prevented her from getting a clear look at his face, but Monet only needed to take one look at those maniacal brown eyes to see who it was. 

"Get out." 

Monet would have snorted at the irony of the situation if she wasn't currently scrambling to her feet to dodge another blow that was aimed at her. The time she would expect Jono to use his telepathic speech, he chose to speak in what his true voice would sound like if it was still capable of being used. She wished he would go back to his usual way of communicating; his real voice was softer and warmer than the psionic speech, and still it managed to carry a level of contempt that Monet wasn't even sure hers could. 

Once her mind registered what was happening, she sprang to her feet with catlike reflexes, surprised to find all of her powers had been stripped on the Plane save for her telepathy, which immediately presented her at a disadvantage. She had always assumed Jono to be the inferior telepath of the team, but watching him wield the blade in his hands that flickered with the flames of the same energy that kept him alive, she regretfully saw that she had been wrong. 

Her own psionic armor was formed as she saw her teammate wasn't going to make this at all easy on her. It was dark red and yellow to match her uniform, and the curves of the metal moved easily against her, mirroring her muscles. She only wished she had any idea as to how to defend herself against the slightly psychotic mutant that stood before her. 

"Get out," he repeated, holding the sword out to prevent Monet from making a sudden charge at him. "I warned yer once, Monet." 

"I only want to help." 

"Don't care. I don't want yer charity," Jono pointed out coldly, eyes narrowing behind the helmet. "Now get out." 

"No." 

Jono, of all the responses he had been expecting, was not anticipating that one. As it was, he took a moment to recover from the initial surprise of the statement. It was enough to give Monet a split second to catch him off balance. She wasn't entirely sure how it happened, but a sword of her own formed in her grip, and she used it to her benefit. She dove at Jono, and had it not been for his quick thinking in managing to bring up his own weapon, he would have been dealt a mental blow that probably would have kept him unconscious for days. 

"Yer....attackin' the wrong one, gel," Jono breathed out in between counters of Monet's moves. "I'm not as ... incompetent as Frost may think." 

"So I see." Monet sighed quietly as she found every one of her blows deflected and serving to do nothing but tire herself and add to Jono's anger. "I don't want to hurt you, Jonothon." 

"Don't worry about it." Jono hit Monet's blade with enough force to send it clattering against the floor several feet away. He held his own against her throat, daring her to make another move towards him. His left hand reached around to undo the buckles and clasps that held his helmet in place. It fell to the ground noisily, revealing a face that had been completely reformed. Apparently, Monet saw, it took much less concentration to keep himself whole on the Astral Plane than it did in reality, though why he would go to the trouble of doing so when he was so adamantly against anyone invading his mind was beyond her. 

"Go, Monet." 

Defeated, Monet started to walk away, back to the crack in the wall, when she turned to see Jono standing with his back to her, head down as if he was contemplating the sword in his hand, the flames of it dying as his anger dissipated. "You know, Jonothon, you need help. I'm sure that I am not the first to tell you this, but it is still a true statement. Unlike how others may have meant it, I only mean that you need help to work through whatever it is that's troubling you." 

Jono turned at the remark; it was about as heartfelt as Monet was ever going to get, and it had still been insulting. He was too tired to care, however, and he bowed his head in quiet acknowledgment. "I know." It was the last thing he said before his presence winked out and Monet could no longer see him. However powerful Jono may have thought himself to be on the Astral Plane, his own mind was a different matter, as he had left a virtual trail to follow. 

Monet was led down the dark corridors by a guide consisting of pained memories and distracted thoughts. They stopped cold outside a closed door, and it suddenly occurred to Monet that she had been walking through a mental representation of her teammate's home. As she expected, the door opened up to reveal a bedroom, a single lamp on in the corner and providing enough of a contrast to the hallway in which she stood that she was forced to blink several times before she could see properly. 

Walking into the room, she wasn't at all surprised at what she found. It seemed like the quintessential teenager's room with clothes and CDs scattered across the floor, with enough space cleared out to leave a walkway from the door to the bed, and another one from the door to the closet. Against the left wall was a bed with a rumpled blanket across it, and on top of that sat Jono. The armor was gone, replaced by a pair of jeans that looked to have seen better days and a black sweatshirt with red writing on the sleeves that Monet couldn't see in the dim light of the room. 

"So this was your bedroom." It was more of a comment than a question, but Jono nodded nonetheless. "It looks very..." A list of things raced through her mind of what she could say to encourage her teammate. Nice? Interesting? Original? "Messy." That was good. 

Jono snorted, letting his head fall back against the wall and staring up at the ceiling. "It's funny, in a way. Not in a 'ha ha' way, just weird. I used to 'ate this place. I'd do anything to keep from comin' back 'ere. Now it's kinda like . . . I dunno. Kinda like a safe haven, as corny as that sounds. I come 'ere t'think sometimes." 

Monet was tempted to brush off the chair at the desk, then decided against it. She wasn't sure what that was hanging over it, so she figured it was best to leave well enough alone. "And to lock yourself away to present a false image of yourself to the world." 

Jono snorted, a strange sound to Monet, who had never heard anything but the monotone psionic speech. "That's funny, too, innit? That yer the only one who even noticed. I think everyone else just assumed I finally lost me mind." 

"You have too much control over yourself to ever go insane," Monet noted, looking around the room while her companion spoke. 

"I figured puttin' up the act would make everyone leave me alone and keep from guessin' I was 'iding out 'ere. It worked fer a while." Jono shrugged, sinking back into the comfort provided by his heavy sweatshirt. "But why were you the only one who knew wot was goin' on?" 

"I am certain Ms. Frost knew all along. Why she didn't do anything about it is anyone's guess." She paused, turning her gaze back upon Jono. "I have evidently found where you've been while you have been acting so odd in reality, but I've yet to see why." 

Jono looked down at his hands. "I felt me father die. I didn't just...know it. I felt it." 

"How?" 

"I don't know. Maybe it's some weird telepathic thing, but I develop some sort of mental link with people I'm really close to. Even though I never was real close to me parents, I ... I had one with 'em. An' I felt Dad die a few days ago." Jono grew quiet and subdued, eyes closing tightly. "And I don't know 'ow ta handle it." 

"I know it is hard for you to speak of your feelings with others, but you should have told someone before you decided to lock yourself away in your mind," Monet chastised, making Jono regret not having forcefully blocked her from his head in the first place. "And though you or others may not see it, I do care for my fellow students, including you. You intrigue me, Jonothon." 

Jono snorted, wrapping his long, thin arms tighter around himself. "Glad I'm a bleedin' paradox, M. Really." 

Monet ignored him. "I reluctantly admit that you are still very much a mystery to me. You are a plethora of emotions, Jono, and in my limited personal dealing with you in the past, I always thought you to waste all of it on your own pain." She stopped to take a breath, pushing a stray hair from her face. "But I see now that I wasn't entirely correct in my assumption. We are quite alike in some respects, Jonothon, in that we both care very much for our friends, despite the fact we are often incapable of showing it. I suspect the same of you." 

Jono nodded silently, staring at the floor of his old bedroom, feeling his memories start to overcome him. Much to his surprise, however, he felt Monet reach out a telepathic anchor to keep him grounded in his spot and prevent him from sinking into the false comfort his depression and fear offered. He held onto the anchor gratefully, feeling inclined from debt to continue listening to the girl. 

"Did you love him?" 

"Wot kinda question is that, Monet? O' course I did." 

"While I am undeniably powerful, my telepathic abilities have not yet been fully developed. Even with my somewhat limited capabilities, I can still sense that you are holding something back." 

Jono bit down hard on his lip, tasting blood that he could not to do in the physical realm. It coated his mouth and provided a distraction while he gathered his thoughts, trying to think of how he could put emotions into words. "I always thought 'e 'ated me for bein' a mutant, y'know? Didn't speak to 'im for weeks 'fore I left 'cause I ... I was scared, really. Scared o' wot 'e might say. So I kept me distance from 'im." He drew in a deep, trembling breath, never looking up from the floor. "I could 'ear 'is thoughts as 'e was dyin'. A lot of 'em were...'e was wonderin' about me. And none of 'is thoughts were angry or even 'alf as bad as I thought they were. I 'ated the man 'cause I honestly thought he 'ated me. An' I feel awful for it." 

"Is that all?" 

Jono's head snapped up finally, brown eyes glassy with unshed tears and turning angry. "Wot're you talkin' about?* 

"If that is all, Jono, I haven't a clue as to why you've decided to seek refuge here," she gestured vaguely to their surroundings, gaze falling disapprovingly on the cluttered corner in which his guitar and amplifier sat. "Did you love him?" 

"Yes." 

"And did he love you?" 

Jono hesitated, resulting in a slight shrug of his thin shoulders. "I...I guess." 

"There is no guessing involved. If he did, you would know it. Did he love you?" 

Jono returned his gaze to the floor. "I...Yeah." 

"Then you have nothing to condemn yourself for," Monet pointed out, still standing there with the look of perfect calm on her face, hands clasped and folded neatly in front of her. "As I said, there are few things in this world that I cannot deduce correctly. One of those things is your personality. I believed you to always be a selfish, self-absorbed individual who would not or could not see past his own problems." 

Jono bit his lip again to keep from calling Monet the epitome of hypocrisy.

"But I see now that I was wrong. You wear your heart on your leather sleeve, Jonothon. One need only look to see it." 

The Brit gave a bitter snort, looking up only to turn his attention to the window and staring out at the empty nothingness outside the imaginary room. "I ain't got a heart t'wear, M." 

"And there are things to which you do not see the answers as well. You are wrong believing that. You have a heart that is more pure than many of those I know who have a solid heart in their chest." Monet stopped herself for a moment to figure out how to put her next statement in the exact context in which she meant it. "Do you plan on staying in your mind forever?" 

"As long as I want." 

"Your guilt for what happened to Gayle nearly destroyed you, Jonothon." Jono turned his eyes back to Monet, and for the first time she saw the terror and sorrow that many sleepless nights had imprinted upon them. "You allowed yourself to be nearly driven to the point of madness because of your feelings over what happened to her, and now you find yourself in the same position because of your father. The guilt is hidden away from others, tucked carefully behind biting comments and the black depression you constantly project. You tell yourself that you are fine and that the guilt will leave, and yet still it stays, eating away slowly but steadily at you much as the energy that sustains you. Eventually, it will leave you the empty shell you claim to be. Don't let your guilt over something that may or may not have been prevented concerning your father consume you." 

Jono leaned back against the wall, comforted faintly by the soft squeaking of the mattress springs. He remained silent until he noticed Monet start to walk away. "Yer not gonna try t'make me leave?" 

Monet turned, her discomfort at the situation beginning to show through the calm demeanor she had managed to keep about her. "As you so often point out to all of us, Jono, it is your life and you may do with it what you will. If you plan to live out your remaining days as someone you aren't and keep your true self hidden away in your mind because you are too afraid to deal with your feelings, then it will be of your own choice." 

Jono was not given a chance to reply, as Monet's visage faded from the room. He looked out the window again and sought an answer that would magically make his every complication in life disappear. Finding none, he gave a soft sigh and stretched out on the bed, laying his head down on the pillow that had been so often used in another life. A moment of rest would be all he needed. Just a moment. 


	5. Epilogue

"Heads up, amigo! Comin' in at two o' clock!"

Jono, disoriented and caught off guard by the rapidness of everything going on around him, turned to his left and never saw Angelo swinging down from a tree branch. He consequently plowed into the Brit, knocking them both to the ground.

Jubilee popped her ever-present gum and smirked. "What's wrong, Yorkshire? Can't tell time?" 

Jono rose indignantly to his feet, brushing himself off as he did so. *Sod off, Lee. Yer just mad 'cause you got put outta the game 'fore anyone else.* 

Jubilee was effectively silenced. She sat off to the side of the Biosphere with her two teachers, alternately pouting and heckling her teammates. The first retort that sprang to her mind managed to find its way to her mouth before she could stop it. "Only 'cause you were busy oglin' Hayseed! Man, I bet if ya had a mouth, you coulda drowned a Sentinel in all that drool!" 

Angelo hid a grin as he pulled himself up, knowing that his friend would have blushed if he still could; that being the case, Paige more than made up for his inability to do so. 

*Just fair warning, gel. Soon as we get outta 'ere, I'm gonna nail yer arse to the wall.* 

Jubilee smiled innocently and then flipped him off when her teachers weren't watching. 

Standing off to the side and listening to everything going on, Banshee had the look of a satisfied parent. "Well. The kids're arguin' as usual, an' we're probably gonna have tae separate Jubilee an' Chamber. I think everything's right with the world, don't ye?" 

Emma longed for a camera in that moment; she took no small amount of pleasure in her next statement. "Yes, it would seem that way. Oh, and Theresa called just before we came down here." 

"What'd she want?" 

Emma turned back around to face her students, smiling lightly. "Oh, I don't recall exactly what she said, only something about someone named Wade." Sean's left eye developed a sudden twitch, a change that did not go unnoticed. Emma relentlessly continued. "You know, Sean, maybe you're right. Everything really does seem to be right with the world." 


End file.
